


Dress for Success

by alyjude_sideburns



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Time, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 05:27:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein the mysteries of life are answered for Blair as he dresses to impress</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dress for Success

 

**Dress for Success by Alyjude**

 

Brian Marshall glanced up from the piece of paper in his hand, to the building across the street. Yes, 852 Prospect. This was it. He shoved the paper back in his pocket and, after checking for traffic, jogged across Prospect and entered the lobby.  Once inside, he noted the mailboxes and confirmed the address;  #307 - Jim Ellison. Whoops. Jim Ellison _and_ Blair Sandburg. Marshall experienced a moment of trepidation. Jim Ellison, living with someone?  
  
Had he found that special someone? It was enough to almost turn Marshall away. Almost. But he hadn't come this far to be put off by a second name on a mailbox label. He squared his shoulders and walked over to the elevator.  He pushed the "up" button and waited. And waited. After two minutes, he looked around and then noticed the very small sign.  
  
*Elevator - Out of Order*  
  
And someone had scrawled across it:  
  
*Again.*  
  
"It's always out of order, man."  
  
The pleasant voice came from behind him and he turned to look into smiling blue eyes, blinking back at him from behind silver-rimmed glasses. The eyes belonged to a short, handsome young man, somewhere between 25 and 30, with long, curly hair. His arms were full of groceries.  
  
"Oh. So it's the stairs, then?"  
  
"Well, I used to fly up, but then the building armed itself and yes, I changed to using the stairs. Safer."  
  
"Ah, yes. Stairs."  
  
By unspoken agreement, the two men started up.  
  
"Second floor?" The handsome young man enquired.  
  
"No. Third."  
  
"You visiting the Wahlers?"  
  
"The Wahlers? No."  
  
The young man stopped, frowning.  
  
"Oh, man. I hope you're not here to see Maggie, because, well, she's in Hawaii. On her... honeymoon."  
  
Marshall had to laugh at the beautiful man's attempt at tact.  
  
"No, not Maggie, and do you know _everyone_ in the building?"  
  
"Natch. I _live_ here."  
  
Brian shook his head in wonder. And he didn't doubt for a minute that this friendly 'puppy' did indeed know everyone, while he knew maybe two people in his building back in Manhattan.  
  
Something must have begun to bother the other man, because his frown deepened.  
  
"So if it's not the Wahlers or Maggie... then you're here to see Jim?"  
  
A small tinkling of bells went off in Marshall's brain, at the way the puppy had said Jim's name. He'd sounded... proprietary. It was time for a little subterfuge.  
  
"Are you Blair?"  
  
The look in Blair's eyes told him a great deal, as he hadn't been able to hide the surprise or the puzzlement. He had all the subtlety of a three-month-old baby.  
  
"Uh, yeah, I'm Blair--Sandburg."  
  
Brian stuck his hand out and jovially added, "Of course you are, I should have realized. I'm Brian." And he managed to say it as if Blair should know, which of course, he couldn't. He fully expected Blair to immediately admit his lack of knowledge, thus putting the first wedge in his relationship with Jim.  The kid took him completely by surprise with his next words.  
  
"Oh, _Brian_ , of course. Come on up, Jim isn't home yet, but he's due any minute."  
  
For a moment, Brian felt just a tad guilty.  The kid was so polite; trying to make him feel welcome, like he knew who he was.   But then the thought of Jim Ellison, and the reason Brian was here, drove all guilt away.  
  
"Great, lead the way."  
  
They went up the final flight, as Brian graciously took one of the bags out of his rival's arms, smiling broadly.  
  
*****  
  
"Can I get you something to drink? A beer maybe?"  
  
Blair had dumped the groceries on the counter and offered Jim's guest a seat.  Brian made himself comfortable on the couch.   
  
"A beer would be perfect."  
  
Brian looked about him, surprised at the homey atmosphere. This wasn't the home of the Jim Ellison he'd known. Not the cool, aloof Ellison of 15 years ago. Maybe Jim had finally let the warmth and passion he'd exhibited in bed spill out into his life?  
  
He noticed a pile of books on the coffee table in front of him and curiously picked one up. Anthropology? Books on Anthropology? Jim?  
  
A brown blur entered his field of vision and he realized Blair was handing him his beer.  
  
"Those are mine. I'm an anthropologist. Going for my doctorate at Rainier."  
  
Okay, not Jim's type at all. An intellectual? Short and brainy? Nope, not Jim's type at all. He took the beer and said, "Thanks. This should hit the spot." And he proceeded to down it in three swigs.  
  
Blair had moved back into the kitchen and was busy putting groceries away when Jim came home.  
  
"Hey, Sandburg, you beat me after all."  
  
Brian stood, and smiled inwardly. That was not the greeting of a lover. Blair Sandburg was no rival. He stepped around the couch and said, "Jim."  
  
*****  
  
Blair sat at his desk, fuming. The laughter coming from the living room was slowly driving him crazy. He thought back to Jim coming home.  
  
Everything had been so nice, until Brian Marshall had said, "Jim," with such a... proprietary air. Like a fucking lover, so husky, so full of promise, so full of... history. And so full of shit. But when Jim looked at Brian, Blair Sandburg had ceased to exist. He became totally invisible as the two men approached each other and hugged-- _hugged_!  And then they were talking at once.  
"You look so good--"  
"Haven't changed a bit--"  
"Less hair, but it looks good--"    
"What the hell have you been doing?"  
  
Then Marshall said something about a drink and dinner and, as Blair stood there, a can of tomato sauce in one hand and a can of water chestnuts in the other, the two men left. Just like that.  Blair threw both cans against the door.  They bounced.  Now, five hours later, five _fucking_ hours later, the two men were home and laughing up a storm.  
  
They'd arrived pleasantly blitzed, a bit stumbling, jovial and discussing the good old days. Which as far as Blair had been able to tell, included Jim's time in the military, especially Covert Ops. And that was really weird, because those were times that Blair would never have categorized as "the good old days."  
  
Then Brian had kissed Jim. And it had been a hell of a kiss. Blair knew, because he'd stood there, tongue on the floor, and watched. Watched as Marshall attempted oral surgery, as he mined for gold and they'd made a real event out of it.   And so Blair had, finally, been left with no doubt as to _why_ those days were now viewed as the good old days.  
  
They'd ended the kiss and Jim had pulled back, smiling like a buffoon, which made Blair want to yell, "GAG ME, SOMEONE!" but instead, he'd smiled, with all the charm he'd possessed. Like it didn't bother him a bit that some guy had had his tongue half way down Jim's throat-- _his_ Jim's throat.  He smiled like he wasn't suddenly revising his pacifist leanings and considering jumping up on a chair and punching Brian Marshall's lights out, or kicking Jim Ellison's very fine butt from here to Timbuktu.   And then Jim had looked at him all goofy and said, "Hey, Chief, you should have come with us."  
  
Okay, he'd stand on the chair and punch _both_ their lights out.  "Gee, Jim," he'd said, the very model of a sincere anthropologist, "I would never intrude on a reunion. I'm off to grade papers, so you guys be good."  
  
So cool. So fucking Cary-Grant cool. Smiling, beaming actually, so happy for the two men getting together after all those years. And wondering why Brian Marshall couldn't have come, oh, say, a week earlier? _Before_ they'd shut down that white slavery ring.  
  
He'd made his gracious exit and just caught the hooded look of satisfaction on Marshall's face and he'd wondered if he knew of any hit men, like Zeller, that weren't in jail.  The laughter out front stopped abruptly, followed by the creaking of the couch and two pairs of footsteps going up to Jim's room.  
  
Okay, he could handle this--he _could_. Especially if he could refrain from imagining what was happening up there. Like Marshall, slowly peeling off Jim's shirt, revealing that incredible chest, running his hands over those pecs....  
  
Pink Elephants.  
  
Don't think about pink elephants. In plaid boxers and wearing a Jags cap.  
  
And sure enough, a parade of pink elephants, wearing plaid boxers and Jags caps, trundled across his mind. He had to grin. He pushed back his chair, slipped on his headphones and flopped down on his bed, ready to let the music soothe the savage breast--and beast.  
  
Except what he got was David Cassidy, and "I Think I Love You." Swell. He started to throw the earphones across the room, when the words hit him.  
  
Oh, shit.  How can this stupid bubblegum song suddenly hold the wisdom of the ages?  Because Blair just had an epiphany courtesy of Brian Marshall, big buff ex-Covert Ops asshole, and the Partridge Family.  It came complete with light bulbs turning on, bells, whistles, lightning and a fair amount of forehead-slapping.  Although he'd never thought about loving a man before, he was absolutely sure he loved Jim Ellison.  He was also absolutely sure never having been with a man would not be an obstacle to loving Jim.  So, as the song said, what was he so afraid of?  What was he up against?   
  
Brian; a man who had a history with Jim.  They shared the "good old days" together and seemed very happy to start up again.  For a moment he fantasized about killing the competition; but could he hide the body well enough to fool a sentinel? And what if Jim preferred Brian?  Was hari kari a reasonable response? Probably not, since it would break a few house rules, what with the blood and the mess and all.   
  
As the song concluded on a hopeful note, so did Blair.  He chose to stick around; chose to believe that, despite their differences, he had assets that were equal to Brian's.  For one thing, he was way too cute to ignore.  Which meant Brian Marshall had to go. Because there'd been two light bulbs; Jim Ellison loved Blair Sandburg.  
  
Blair had the sudden, hysterical desire to draw a huge heart on a blackboard, with the initials; J  & B and an arrow shot through the middle. He smiled foolishly at _that_ picture, then he got a sudden fit of the giggles and fell back, pulling a pillow over his head to stifle the sound.  
  
Until a 'Garden of Eden' type snake spoke up.  "Who says (ssss) Jim loves (sssss) you?  
  
Blair shot straight up, looked around, pillow and giggles forgotten.  "Why shouldn't he?"  
  
"Why would (ssssss) he?"  
  
Fuck.  But reason prevailed along with hope and optimism, Blair's best traits.  "Because he does, that's why. I know it. And unless you have a sudden desire to become a wallet, or a pair of shoes, get out of my dreams."  
  
The snake slithered away.  
  
Blair collapsed back onto his pillow, sighing loudly. His thoughts whirled about him, exhausting him and he finally fell asleep, having formed no brilliant plan to save Jim, but with really cool visions of them rolling around on the sand, waves crashing over them.  It should have been really cold and really wet and _really_ uncomfortable, but instead it was just really erotic.  
  
*****  
  
Laughter again.  Blair pulled the pillow over his head, until the smell of frying eggs got through to him. Morning.  One hand fumbled for his glasses, found them, slipped them on.  He stumbled out of bed and made his way out into the living room.  
  
Jim was already dressed casually in jeans and a sweater, and was scrambling eggs.   Brian, in Jim's robe, sat at the kitchen table and regaled Jim with his adventures on the New York subway.  
  
Umph. Blair could top that. Headhunters. Headhunters who had a thing for long, curly hair. But then he realized how he must look, and he scrambled back into his room.  He grabbed some clothes and jackrabbited into the bathroom, where he proceeded to take the fastest shower in Blair Sandburg history. He toweled himself dry, shaved, dressed and spritzed his hair with a leave-in conditioner. By the time he was done, the other men had just started on breakfast.  
  
"So, I tell the guy that I know how to kill a man fifty different ways and he scurries off, never to be seen again...."  
  
Oh, great. The kill-a-man-in-fifty-different-ways story.  Do all ex-Covert Ops guys have that story?  
  
"Wow, Brian, sorry I missed that story. Hi, Jim."  
  
Jim turned around to greet Blair, who was standing behind him. "Hey, Chief, good morning. There are some eggs left, and the bagels are in the oven, warming."  
  
"Thanks, man." And for effect and to tell Brian Marshall just who was who in this household, he placed both hands on Jim's shoulders and gave a little squeeze. "That was thoughtful, man."  
  
And he didn't miss Brian's look of speculation, or revision of his opinion of one Blair Sandburg. It was in the raised eyebrow and the cocked head. And the little frown. Blair did a mental high five with himself and then sauntered into the kitchen, giving Jim what he hoped was a good look at his ass.  
  
He was just buttering up a bagel when Jim pushed himself away from the table and got his jacket.  
  
"Look, Bri, I'll be back in a couple of hours and then we can take that trip to the beach for some sun and surf; but I promised Simon I'd get this report done today. Maybe Blair can keep you busy?"  
  
Blair looked up, smiling broadly. Oh, yeah, he'd keep him busy. He raised _his_ eyebrow.  
  
"No need. There are a few errands I could do this morning. What time should I meet you at the station?"  
  
"Well," and he looked at his watch, "It's nine now, how about eleven? Late for good waves, but we can still catch a few."  
  
"Eleven it is. But we'll have to cut our surfing short, I have another appointment at four."  
  
"Well, why don't we go surfing now, then I'll go to the station, while you take care of your appointment?"  
  
"Now that sounds like a plan."  
  
Blair realized he'd better jump in quick.  
  
"Hey, you guys got plans for this evening? How about we double date? I'll cook."  
  
Jim shot a very surprised look at Blair, then over to Brian.  
  
"Bri?"  
  
"Sounds good. What time for dinner? My appointment should be over easily by five, five-thirty, Jim?"  
  
"Yeah, I can be finished by say, six?"  
  
"Well, then," Blair finished, "Why not, six-thirty?"  
  
They all agreed and Jim and Brian headed back upstairs; Brian to get dressed and Jim to change. Twenty minutes later the two men had left, leaving Blair to clean up and make his plans for the evening ahead.  
  
Oh, yeah, this would be good. Very good.  
  
*****  
  
Blair was in the middle of grading papers in the late afternoon, when Brian let himself into the loft. Blair turned to face his rival.  
  
"Hey, Blair, forgot my notes for the appointment. Not interrupting anything, am I?"  
  
"No way, man. How did the surfing go?"  
  
"Fun. Jim is one terrific surfer, but then, I'm sure you know that."  
  
"Yeah. He's good at everything."  
  
Brian narrowed his eyes and decided it was time for a heart-to-heart with this little puppy.  
  
"Blair, I think I should make something very clear."  
  
Sandburg just smiled, staying where he was, and crossed his arms.  
  
"You can't win."  
  
Blair cocked his head and his grin widened.  
  
"So, _Bri_ , the truth. No more games?"  
  
"No more games. Jim and I share a history; we have a great deal in common. And I have every intention of moving back into his life. And I seriously doubt that someone like you can interfere with those plans."  
  
Brian lounged against the back of the sofa, _his_ arms crossed, looking supremely confident. And for the first time, Blair really looked at the man. Brian was as tall as Jim, dark brown hair, straight, combed back, slick, with very nice hazel eyes. He was a good looking man. Slender, not as muscular as Jim, but Blair could tell he was strong, sure and athletic. For just a moment, Blair felt inferior, like he had in school when standing next to football players. But only for a moment.  
  
"A guy like me?"  
  
"Young. Naive. And let's face it, you just don't have the history or the experience. You can't win. And there's something else you should consider."  
  
"And that would be?"  
  
"A person doesn't forget his first love. That's something you can't fight."  
  
Blair got up from the kitchen table and walked over to Brian, stopping just inches from the man. He had to look up, and some would have felt at a disadvantage, but not Blair. He was used to having to look up at people.  
  
"You're right. You _don't_ forget your first love. It's a very special memory. But I have this theory. You see, it's not the first love that counts. It's the last. And that would be me."  
  
"Well, then. I guess it's the best man?"  
  
"Um, yeah. And that would be me, as well."  
  
"All's fair?"  
  
"Oh, yeah."  
  
Brian held out his hand, and Blair took it. The war was on. And all Blair could think was that poor Jim didn't stand a chance and poor Brian didn't _have_ a chance.  
  
*****  
  
The loft was ready, the smell of Blair's famous Country French lasagna filling the rooms. It was well after six-thirty, as Blair had expected. He'd known that somehow, Brian would manage to be late. So he'd put his casserole, one of Jim's favorite recipes, in late. There was no way this dinner would burn. He could outsmart an ex-Ranger, ex-Covert Ops guy any day of the week.  
  
Now, what to wear. Brian had gone upstairs after their little 'talk' and come down with clothes on a hanger, under a garment bag. Blair got the message. Brian would do his best to look spectacular. But it wouldn't be enough.  
  
Blair thought long and hard. And he had it. He moved over to his drawers and pulled out a very old pair of jeans. They were so old and so often washed that they were now almost the color of a summer sky, that was filled mostly with wisps of cottony clouds. Then over to his closet to pick out the right shirt. His fingers traveled over several shirts, but finally came to rest on one in particular, his powder blue and white flannel shirt. Perfect.  
  
He looked at the clock on his nightstand. Almost 7:30. If he knew Brian, he and Jim would be here any minute. He quickly slipped into his jeans, sans underwear, pulled on the flannel shirt and sat on the bed to wait.  
  
He didn't have long.  
  
At 7:45, Jim and Brian arrived home. Blair stood, squared his shoulders and left his room.  
  
*****  
  
Jim was just hanging up his jacket and dropping his bag on the floor when Blair came through the french doors. Brian was talking, apologizing really.  
  
"God, Jim. I'm so sorry my appointment ran so late, the dinner is probably ruined now. You think Blair will be angry?"  
  
"It doesn't smell burned, in fact, it smells like it's just about ready. And Blair would never get angry."  
  
"Hey, guys, you made it."  
  
Both men turned to look at Blair, and even Brian caught his breath and had a momentary pang of doubt.  
  
Blair stood there, the flannel shirt just hanging open; revealing soft, silky chest hair and one gold nipple ring. The button of his jeans was also open, the zipper not quite up all the way. He was barefoot, and instead of the usual two gold rings in his ear, he wore a simple, sapphire stud. It had been a gift from Naomi, a gift he would never in a million years have worn; but hell, a man had to dress for success, right?  
  
"Sorry, I ran late grading papers and haven't even finished dressing yet. The casserole is due out any minute, I'm like _so_ glad you guys are late."  
  
Then apparently forgetting that he wasn't completely dressed, he walked into the kitchen, pulled out the salad and the french bread, placed them on the table and invited Jim and Brian to sit.  Dinner was on....  
  
He got out a nice Chardonnay, gave it to Jim to open and then went back and pulled out the casserole, which was ready, hot and bubbling. He placed it on the table and took his seat. And waited. Brian didn't let him down.  
  
"Uh, there are four place settings. Are we eating without your date?"  
  
Blair dropped his head, then looked up, a brave smile on his face.  
  
"I'm afraid I've been stood up. She called, said she had a toothache."  
  
Brian should have seen the trap, shouldn't have fallen for it. But in his world, puppies were harmless. Of course, how could he know?  
  
"Toothache?" he exclaimed, incredulously.  
  
"Yeah." And Blair let his head drop again, his shoulders slumping.  
  
"Hey, Chief, she's the one missing out, okay?"  
  
He looked back up, into Jim's warm, caring eyes and nodded.  
  
"Thanks, Jim." Then he dropped his bombshell. "But I knew I should have asked David. You guys would have loved him. Now let's eat."  
  
Brian caught the look of surprise on Jim's face and once again considered that maybe he'd already lost. But no. He was stubborn. War was hell, but far from over.  
  
Little did he know.  
  
They ate companionably; laughing, trading stories, drinking wine. The food was excellent, Brian had to give credit where credit was due.   But the way to a man's heart was below the waist and there was no way this little pipsqueak could top him there. No fucking way. So he bided his time, waiting for the end of the evening, for when he'd get Jim upstairs.  
  
The meal was over and Blair and Jim moved in unison, clearing the table, joking, their bodies brushing, hands skimming over each other. Blair urged Brian into the living room to relax, telling Jim to go entertain his friend while Blair cleaned up. But Jim shook his head and together, in perfect synchronization, like hundreds of times before, they cleaned, Jim washing, Blair drying, and Jim telling him all about the waves.  
  
Brian watched and realized he'd have to do something and pretty darn quick. And he knew exactly what that something was. So he sat back, smiling contentedly, letting Blair have his moment.  
  
*****  
  
Jim and Brian sat on the sofa across from the window, Blair on the sofa opposite the fireplace, which Jim had turned on. All were partaking in a wonderful bottle of Hors d' Age, a very expensive cognac, whose purpose was not lost on Blair. He could have spent several minutes telling both men all about cognac's, Hors d' Age, especially, but he decided to drink it instead.  The conversation had petered out, all three feeling nice and muzzy, floating on the warmth of the cognac, when Brian cleared his throat.  
  
"Jim. I have to.....confess something. This is going to be hard, but, and if you want me to leave, I'll understand." Marshall got up and moved slowly, painfully, to the windows, his back to Jim.  
  
"Bri? What is it?"  
  
Blair sat forward.  
  
"I... Blair and I... well, we had a talk today. And it resulted in something I'm now very ashamed of....we kind of entered into a pact. Involving you." He turned to face Jim. His body language said brave, said strong, said "I'll take whatever is coming to me, I'm responsible."  
  
"We both agreed that we loved you. That it was a fight, so to speak, to see which of us would win you."  
  
There was complete, utter silence. Jim turned, stunned, to look at Blair.  
  
"Blair? This is a joke, right?"  
  
"No. I love you. And I'm sorry too. It was unfair, unethical and juvenile, and you deserve so much better than that.  If anyone should leave, it should be me."  
  
Blair got up, suddenly feeling really juvenile and guilty and foolish. Brian was right, he wasn't up to this. He walked past the men and went into his room, shutting the door behind him.  
  
He stripped off his shirt and jeans, throwing them angrily onto the floor. What the hell had he been thinking? You can't manipulate people, no one knew that better than he did. How had he been lulled into this farce? How could he have done that to Jim?  
  
In the other room, Brian stared at Jim and waited. Finally, he couldn't take the silence anymore.  
  
"Jim? Should I stay?"  
  
"I think it would be better if you didn't. It was great, reliving old times, but now, well, we're not the same men--we don't have the same outlook. I'm sorry, Bri."  
  
Brian frowned, took a step forward, put out his hand, "Please, Jim. Let's try again. We can get past this. I made a mistake. I was foolish."  
  
"No, it's not that. I'm actually flattered. But my life is different. Look around you, Brian. And, well, I _do_ love Blair. I'm the one who should say he's sorry."  
  
Brian couldn't believe it; he'd lost. He should have known the minute he looked into those blue eyes downstairs in the lobby. He was defeated before he'd even begun.  
  
*****  
  
Jim watched Brian leave and closed the loft door.  Both men had felt the nostalgia and the camaraderie of the past few days, but also the rightness of Brian's leave-taking. Now it was time to face Blair.  
  
He walked over to the french doors and knocked.  
  
"Come in, Jim."  
  
He stepped in and stopped short. Blair was packing. He shook his head at the stupidity of the very brilliant man in front of him.  
  
"You know, the unbuttoned jeans thing was brilliant. And how did you know Brian would make us late?"  
  
Blair stopped folding and looked up, seeing Jim smiling _that_ smile.  He looked so damned sexy leaning against the wall; legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded across his chest, revealing his casual strength....  
  
"Uh?"  
  
"And making my favorite casserole? Although, I was betting it would be either that or you'd serve up Wonderburger under glass. You do have a perverted sense of humor."  
  
Blair stared, speechless with shock,  and finally sat down with a thud on the floor; missing the bed by inches.  
  
Jim hurried over, but when he saw that Blair was alright, he stood over him, a goofy grin on his handsome face.  
  
"You knew? You bastard, you _knew_!"  
  
"Well, I am a detective, and a sentinel; your pheromones were wafting all over the place. And I gotta tell you, for a minute I was really worried. I thought they were for Brian. Then, you walked out of your room tonight, and I knew that outfit was for me."  
  
"You asshole. I slaved over that meal, over what to wear."  
  
"Yeah, it's ironic; because all you really needed to do was crawl into my bed."  
  
"I don't think so. I value _all_ my body parts."  
  
"So do I, Chief; so do I."  
  
"So, should I crawl into your bed tonight?"  
  
"Well, that would be nice." And Jim held out his hand, which Blair happily grasped and he was immediately yanked up and into those very strong arms, and pulled against the very same chest he'd so recently been dreaming about.   Jim's mouth, which had also starred in his dreams, came down on his and it was fucking fantastic; wet, smooth, long, deep.  Jim's quickly buried his hands in Blair's hair and hungrily sucked Blair's tongue.  Blair grabbed Jim's hips; holding on for dear life as he gave as good as he got.  Still kissing, they let go of each other long enough to start pulling off clothing-shirts, sweatpants, jeans and boxers.  Once skin was gliding against skin, they fell back onto the bed.  
  
Blair felt Jim's hard shaft rubbing against his, and the sensation was electric.   Then Jim's knee was pushing his thighs apart, and his large body settled in and Jim sighed so happily, and they were kissing again, and humping, hips thrusting up, Jim's down, their bodies sliding, the sweat building up and running down Blair's face.   He felt giddy, like a teenager, like his first love, his first time.  It was all of those things, because he _was_ like a teenager, because he'd never had this as a teenager, and it _was_ his first time with a man, and Jim _was_ his first real love.   He felt it all churning, like a volcano getting ready to erupt,  and then he was coming and screaming Jim's name; his voice hoarse, his neck stretched back, his head bouncing against the headboard.  Jim latched on to his throat and bit, and that caused one final thrust, and then Blair was spent.  Moments later, Jim was shouting Blair's name and coming against him, arching his back up and then collapsing.  
  
Blair didn't want to move; didn't want to move Jim. Having Jim's body over his was like being under the covers on a cold winter morning when you're feeling warm and soft and safe. His hand stroked down Jim's back, and he remembered that conversation with Brian that seemed so long ago now.  Jim was his first love, really.   More importantly, he knew that Jim was also his last.  
  
One man, first, last and always.  
  
The End  
  
I Think I Love You by David Cassidy  
  
I'm sleeping  
And right in the middle of a good dream  
When all at once I wake up  
From something that keeps knockin' at my brain.  
Before I go insane  
I hold my pillow to my head  
And spring up in my bed  
Screaming out the words I dread:  
"I think I love you!"  
  
This morning  
I woke up with this feeling  
I didn't know how to deal with  
And so I just decided to myself  
I'd hide it to myself and never talk about it  
And didn't I go and shout it  
When you walked into the room.  
"I think I love you!"  
  
I think I love you.  
So what am I so afraid of?  
I'm afraid that I'm not sure of  
A love there is no cure for.  
  
I think I love you.  
Isn't that what life is made of?  
Though it worries me to say  
That I've never felt this way.  
  
wwwwhhhh  
  
I don't know what I'm up against.  
I don't know what it's all about.  
I got so much to think about.  
  
Hey, I think I love you.  
So what am I so afraid of?  
I'm afraid that I'm not sure of  
A love there is no cure for.  
  
I think I love you.  
Isn't that what life is made of?  
Though it worries me to say  
That I've never felt this way.  
  
Believe me,  
You really don't have to worry.  
I only want to make you happy  
And if you say,  
"Hey, go away," I will  
But I think better still,  
I'd better stay around and love you.  
Do you think I have a case?  
Let me ask you to your face:  
Do you think you love me?  
  
I think I love you.  
I think I love you.  
I think I love you.


End file.
